The companions had sailed far and long, following a heading directed by Vitharr Halldorsson. In all directions they could see only water, and it had been some time since they spied a passing island. They continued at the behest of Vitharr who seemed unnaturally drawn toward a particular direction. After a time rowing his share of the ship, Vitharr took a moment to relax and refresh, letting another of the companions take his place as a rower for now. Runa approached and sat down beside him. “You knew.” She began then paused. “You knew somehow that the village held that treasure chest, back in Valikorlia.” Vitharr leaned back and rested against the ship, staring up at the bright blue sky.

“How could I have known this, I am no seer.” He rebutted, though Runa did not relent.

“You are not, yet you still knew and brought us there to find it. Tell us how.”

Vitharr noticed it was not just Runa who was curious; the other companions, even those that rowed, were listening and watching Vitharr in hopes of an answer. The lead Viking exhaled a breath through his nostrils. “I felt a calling in my bones. A need in myself I could not ignore. That is it.” The other companions did not understand what he could have meant, and Runa stared at him as if he had gone mad. Before she could question again, there came a shout.

“Land ahead!” It was Torold that first spotted the landmass creeping up on the horizon they were headed toward. Vitharr stood up, the earlier conversation put to rest as he and his companions looked upon the land that was fast approaching.

Sveinn crept close to Vitharr and asked excitedly, “Is this the right island?” To which the raid leader smiled while staring intently at the horizon.

“We are here, my friend.”

As the companions drew closer to the island, none of them could move their gaze away from the lush green land, and the promise of finally setting foot on ground once again. However, while the companions watched the island, Vitharr’s eye was caught by something else. To the very northeast of the island raged a thundering grey storm. A storm that Vitharr remained transfixed on until another shout came. “A ship approaches!” Torold once more notified the others. Vitharr and the companions now became wary of the ship that quickly gained toward them, and they began to take up arms. A warning, for now, to show the approaching ship that at least one will die by a companion’s hand today, should they wish for a fight. Eventually the boat had caught up, and upon it the companions could see there were armed and armored warriors. Vitharr signals for the rowers to halt, and allowed the approaching boat to drift side by side to the Vinnish ship.

“Greetings and fair weather to you.” A warrior on the foreign boat speaks in Common. “We welcome you to the Kingdom of Daith. Follow us and we will take you to shore safely.”

There was a deafening silence as the two crews stared at one another. Though the warriors of Daith seemed welcoming, the companions could only be wary. Each Viking stood with axe, sword and shield in hand, for there was little trust to be had for these outsiders.

“We should kill them, Vitharr. Set their ship aflame as message to their King.” Counseled Runa quietly.

“A greeting from the companions.” Said Dag the skald with a laugh. The other companions gripped tightly at their weapons, steeling themselves for Vitharr’s decision. One he was still considering.

“And why would we follow you?” The raid leader posed his question loudly. The warrior of Daith that had spoken before seemed delighted to exchange words.

“Our good King is a welcoming man! He wishes to greet all newcomers to the isles personally. We can take you right to town, it is nearby.” The companions uttered their hushed suggestions and warnings amongst one another. There was a prevailing sense this was a trap set by their King, and that to go would lead only to death. Though it was something to consider, Runa, Sveinn and Young Halldor all knew Vitharr well enough. If the Viking had any shining trait since he was a small boy, it was his unending curiosity.

“Then let us meet with this King. We shall follow.” Vitharr said, to the surprise of some of the companions.

The two ships sailed into shore side by side without issue, but the tension was pronounced. The threat of the companions was not lost on the warriors of Daith, and though they felt just as tense in the presence of these raiders, they did not give them any cause for a battle. Once the ships beached, the companions all disembarked. The warriors of Daith did the same, but waited next to their ship, watching the companions from afar as they spoke amongst one another.

“I do not trust these southerners.” Said Vitharr as he consulted with the ten other warriors.

“Runa, Sveinn, Halldor. Come with me to the King, we will judge him ourselves.” Vitharr clasped a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Always, Vitharr!” Spoke Sveinn eagerly as he hoisted up his greataxe.

“Let us see if this Kingdom is rich.” Runa gave a nod of her head, slinging her handaxe at her side.

“You will need the Grey’s favor, of course.” Young Halldor had nothing but his walking stick and bone bag.

“What of the rest of us, Vitharr?” Asked Dag the Skald. “I wish to come, to see the meeting of the Companions of Vitharr and the island King.”

Vitharr considered it, eyeing the rest of the companions briefly before conceding to the skald with a nod. “Five will go, five will stay, but I will need one for a task.” The raid leader searched the faces of the remaining companions and singled out their only bow wielder. “Guthred of the Havardr, I have need of your skills.” The summoned companion drew closer.

“Lord?” Said Guthred. He hailed from the Havardr, a Vinnish clan known for their nomadic way of life and most importantly their superb skill with the hunt. A skill Vitharr aimed to test.

“You will be our shadow. You will remain hidden and follow our path to this supposed town, and once there you will be my eyes.” Vitharr instructed.

“I am to spy?” Questioned Guthred, unsure of his own capabilities, he was but a young hunter.

“See what you can see. When we have met the King, you will leave the town and shadow our return to the ship until I call for you.” The raid leader gripped the side of the young Vinman’s neck, entrusting him with this important task. Guthred called on his courage and gave Vitharr a nod; he would not fail his request, especially one that Vitharr trusted only him with.

With their plans set, the five Vinmen joined with the warriors of Daith and were escorted to the nearby town and home of the King. The town of Paguin was a busy place, one of the largest towns that were part of the island chain known as the Storm Isles. The architecture of the town and the aesthetic of its people were both something the Stal Vindur born warriors had never seen, as it originated from a place even farther south, Marseilles.

The townspeople were a diverse lot, those hailing from as far as Meridiem and even some of Vinnish descent. The smell of spices filled the exotic air, the main source of wealth for the isles and the King. More valuable than gold in some places. Vitharr and his friends were escorted through town to a large stone hall situated on a small rise in the town center. Within was a place of finery and luxury. Bowls of fruit displayed out in the open upon tables of finely carved and embossed wood. Lit gold plated chandeliers hang high. There were gold framed paintings on the walls, gold plated vases on fine tables, and even more gold plated candelabras. The companions, most especially Runa, could hardly believe it. This King enjoyed displaying his wealth so freely.

“Pretty gold.” Commented Sveinn as they went, mesmerized by the glint of light reflecting off the golden surfaces.

“A peacock of a King.” Appraised Young Halldor scoldingly.

While Runa contemplated taking the gold for herself, she was no thief; she looked forward to earning it through conquest. While Vitharr, ever thinking, made note of the lack of warriors in this grand hall. In fact, the raid leader had barely noticed any warriors in the town, something that left the Viking to ponder. This hall lacked the warmth he was so used to, finding it cold and impersonal, how would one entertain, feed, and boast with his companions in such a place. Eventually the warriors of Daith had led the five companions to the King’s chamber. It was a very spacious place, decorated with all manner of finery just as the previous section of the hall was. At the end of the court stood an old man in the formal dress of a Marseilles born noble, and just beside him sat a crowned man, no doubt the King. A brass colored crown sat upon his dark haired head, and the throne he sat upon was cushioned and made of the same color brass of his crown. The warriors of Daith allowed the companions to draw closer to the regal King, the wild appearances of the Vinmen bringing a shocking contrast to the lavish people and environment that surrounded them.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“You have the honor of addressing King Lewyn of the Storm Isles.” The old man that stood beside the King said, and continued, “The King offers his gracious greetings.”

“Does he?” Vitharr questioned as the King had yet to say a word.

“Perhaps his tongue has been cut?” Inquired Sveinn the Pup before sticking out his own tongue, likely in mockery. It was met with a laugh from Dag and Runa, though the Daithians found little amusement from it.

“Forgive me for having my men bring you before me, but it was a necessity.” Now spoke King Lewyn.

“The peacock opens its beak.” Uttered Young Halldor after a scoff. Vitharr patted Sveinn’s shoulder; the man could speak after all.

“You were not brought here for greetings, but for me to judge your intentions. What is your name?” Said the King, quickly, firmly and to the point.

“I am Vitharr Halldorsson, Lord.” The Viking gave a lazy bow.

“You are a raider,” the King began, “I have seen and dealt with your kind before. Raiders have a mind for one thing and only one thing, so we will exchange. You and your companions will find no other purpose in my lands, Vitharr Halldorsson.”

“Our purpose might be to kill.” Threatened Runa as she invaded the space of a nearby warrior, leaning in close to the Daithian’s intimidation, and to the King’s distaste.

“And what is this exchange?” Vitharr asked, reining in the King’s attention away from Runa.

“Two hundred pounds weight of silver. In exchange for this sum, Vitharr and his companions will depart my shores, leaving my lands untouched.” The King dictated loudly. The elderly advisor nodded his head, “A fair sum, Lord King.”

The Companions did not seem moved, indeed their postures remained aloof, almost as if inattentive to the King’s offer. “So,” Vitharr stopped a moment to briefly think, chewing at a nail as he did then spitting it aside, “We come to your lands and right away you offer us silver to leave?” His tone was mocking. In truth, Vitharr found it infuriating, despite the coolness and calm to his speech. In the Viking’s mind, the King could only be a coward. Small and weak, fear must have driven this island King to resort to coin rather than blade. If fear is what is within him, then Vitharr would push him. “One thousand pounds weight of silver, one hundred pounds weight of gold, then the Companions will leave.”

“What sort of absurd…!” The elderly advisor spoke incredulously. The King stared at the Viking, noting the seriousness behind Vitharr’s words.

“Three hundred pounds weight of silver, twenty pounds weight of gold.” The King increased his original price, but was met by Vitharr’s chuckle.

“Not enough.”

The King drummed his well kept fingers against the cushioned armrest of his brass colored throne. “Very well, I am not without my flexibility. One thousand pounds weight of silver and one hundred pounds weight of gold.”

“Swear it.” Vitharr approached, causing the warriors to step toward him in defense of King Lewyn. The monarch raised his hand for them to stand aside and let the Viking pass.

Vitharr outstretched a hand, and the King reached out to take it. “On my honor as King, I swear it. You will have your due payment.”

Vitharr released his grip on the King, shooting up a pleased smirk at the elderly advisor. Turning, the raid leader clasped a hand on Runa’s shoulder as he passed, and beckoned the Companions to follow.

Remembering the way back to the beach, and the ship, Vitharr and the others rejoined the companions that had stayed behind. Dag the Skald was eager to share with them what had happened in the King’s hall.

Meanwhile, Vitharr turned to his brother and spoke, “Cast the bones, Halldor. Judge for me what is to come.”

The agreement had left Vitharr in a foul and worried mood, and Young Halldor could see it. The lamed Vinman slowly dropped to his knees upon the beach. The companions stood aside as Halldor took out his bone bag and loosened the string. He reached in then threw the bones onto the sand, letting them toss about and roll until coming to a stop. Vitharr came forward, crouching low beside the interpreter. “I see only storms, Vitharr. There are bad omens here and ahead. The Grey must be made to see us.” Young Halldor said loudly, and gripped hold of a handful of sand from the earth and raised it for all the companions to see. The gathered warriors followed Young Halldor’s example and each collected a portion of sand in their hands. All of them matted it into their hair and against their faces, for should the companions come to meet their end, then the Grey Ones will have known where it was their tale came to a close. While the companions that accompanied Vitharr daydreamed of the agreed upon riches the King had agreed to part with, the raid leader was wary.

Just as soon as the companions took part in their ritual, an arrow flew out from the jungle without warning and pierced into the leg of one of the companions. Brynhild fell onto the sand, instantly taken from her feet. “Shields!” Bellowed Vitharr nigh instantly as the shrieking hit his ear. The first arrow was accompanied by a few others, though most struck the sand and pierced into their ship. The companions all rushed for their shields, taking them up from the beach and from within the ship. The moment of panic in the initial rush for shields had subsided as the young warriors grouped together. “Shield wall!” Again bellowed Vitharr. A unified grunt was the response from his companions as each of their shields met together with a mighty crash. They then bent low, angling the shield wall formation in such a way as to not only protect their front, but to also protect their heads from a rain of arrows which was sure to come. Another volley flew out from the jungle, pelting against the Vinnish formation. Some were deflected by the shields, others pierced into the wood, and some missed their marks and sunk into the sand. Beyond the sound of arrow heads biting wood and the groaning of the lamed Brynhild behind the shield wall, the companions were entirely silent.

“Without mercy!” Came a shout from the jungle, and out of the cover of green rushed a group of Daithian warriors, their number exceeding the able bodied companions.

“Together!” Vitharr shouted and the companions altered their formation. Rising up from the sand, they locked their shields into a tight and slightly curved wall, a bid to keep their flank secure from the superior numbers that bore down on them. With unified grunting like a steady beat of a drum, Vitharr and the companions slowly moved in reverse and halted just at the ocean’s edge. As the formation moved, Vitharr dragged the wounded Brynhild back to keep her protected.

The Daithians soon crashed against the Vinnish shield wall, forcing their bodies against the front in attempts to push their way through the formation. Vitharr released Brynhild and returned to firmly standing with his companions as they took the initial brunt of the soldiers. Young Halldor was too frail and lamed to participate in the formation, and while the battle commenced and continued, he spouted all manner of curses at the Daithians, and assured his companions that the Grey Ones were watching.

The bulk of the Daithian soldiers were concentrated against the front of the companions’ shield wall, but eventually some moved toward the flanks. Their sabatons sloshed through the ocean waters as they tried, their armored feet sinking into the wet sand and fighting against it. Some fell as they tried to attack the shields at the flank, stumbling awkwardly into one another, giving an opening for the Vinmen to stab and slash and let their blood flow onto the beach.

As the Daithian numbers began to fall at the flanks, Vitharr shouted for the formation to open. The shield wall suddenly parted as the companions forced their shields outward in unison, bashing a few of the Daithians backward. An unfortunate Daithian who had been pushing his weight against the wall suddenly found himself rushing through the formation alone, only to have his gut cut open by the greataxe of Sveinn the Pup, then once falling to the sand was stabbed to death by the wounded Brynhild.

The shield wall closed behind the warrior before his death, letting the desperate Daithians continue to try and force their way through. A few stabs and cuts from the Daithians managed to leave a number of the companions wounded, but still breathing and able to hold. An arrow was loosed from the jungle and sunk into the back of one of the Daithians. Another arrow came, then another, felling and wounding Daithians one by one. For within the brush was Guthred of the Havardr, still acting as shadow just as Vitharr instructed.

“Tell me Skald, what did these warriors first say?!” Shouted Vitharr as he held against the Daithians.

“They said ‘without mercy’, Lord!” Responded Dag, the young warrior struggling to keep the front of the wall secured.

Vitharr laughed heartily, “If they wish it so, then let it be!” It was not long before the Daithians realized they were taking arrows from their rear. As some Daithians diverted their attention from the wall to try and turn and move away, the companions rushed out from their shield wall formation, taking the Daithians by surprise and cutting down any that stood before them. While the arrows of Guthred downed any that chose to flee, the companions on the beach slew each warrior they could get their hands on.

Triumphant battle cries filled the air as the Vinmen littered the beach with the bodies of dead Daithians. Though before the last could be cut open and sent to his unfamiliar gods, Vitharr stepped in to spare his life, for the Viking had questions. The blood and sand covered raid leader gripped tightly at the remaining Daithians hair and pulled him up onto his knees. “Did the King send you? Did the King break his oath? Use your tongue and speak!” In truth, Vitharr knew very well this must have been the King’s doing, but he would hear it said plainly so that the Grey Ones and all can be witness to the treachery.

“Y-Yes, yes! We were paid by the King to kill the raiders!”

Vitharr had assumed it, but hearing it filled him with a rage unlike he had ever experienced. For a King to give his word and oath was a sacred thing, Vitharr believed. Should any break his honor bound oath, they would deserve condemnation and utter disgrace, and for this King to have done it so easily because he wished not to pay was unfathomable. “May he be cursed,” began Vitharr in anger, “May his spirit die and be condemned to an eternity of solitude. You!” The Viking forced the defeated warrior’s face into the sand and leaned in close to his ear. “You will return to your pretender King, and tell him Vitharr Halldorsson will have what he is owed. His silver and gold, and now his treacherous head. Go!”

Vitharr allowed the wounded warrior to return to the jungle with haste. The Viking’s anger still burned brightly, and he would leave the King a message, just as Runa suggested not long ago at their first meeting of these Daithians. The Companions took every fallen warrior, every lifeless corpse that lay upon the beach, and cut the heads free of their necks. With harvested sticks and branches fashioned into spikes, the Vinmen sunk each wooden pole into the earth at the edge of the beach, and mounted the heads of every single felled warrior that the King sent to their deaths. Vitharr Halldorsson’s declaration of war and vengeance.

As the companions studied their handiwork from the beach, and helped the wounded Brynhild onto the ship, Vitharr stared out at the island. Though he did not focus on the mounted heads, nor the green of the land ahead. His eye was drawn to the thundering grey storm in the far north, the very same storm he had seen when they first arrived at these shores. “Vitharr!” Shouted Sveinn the Pup, as it seemed all the companions were aboard the ship and ready to depart. The raid leader accompanied them, and shoved off into the sea, with a heading leading them to the northwest of the island, and away from these bloodied shores for now.